


Present Tense

by VicXntric



Series: Tense [2]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicXntric/pseuds/VicXntric
Summary: Nick thought nothing could be tougher than coming out to his family.Set around Season 4. Written in 2007.





	Present Tense

Brett Stokes tried to keep the nights he worked late to less than three a week, but as an ADA for Harris County, that wasn't easy. Tonight made it three-for-three this week already, but staying a few hours tonight and tomorrow meant clearing the decks before next week's two murder cases and _that_ meant at least having the weekends free--providing there were no major surprises with either case. 

He'd just got himself a semi-fresh cup of coffee and was getting ready to dig back in when there was a knock on his half-open door. Looking up, he saw Clarence Ashe in the doorway. "Hey," Brett waved him in. "What's up? I thought you were busy with the Lowdner case."

The lithe black man folded himself into one of the chairs by Brett's desk. "I found something at the victim's house I think you need to see."

Brett frowned. Although Bryan Lowdner's case had originally been his, he'd handed it off to Ava Cuenca the moment he'd found a suitable reason. Cuenca specialized in child abuse cases and she was foaming at the mouth to get Lowdner behind bars. Of course, no one could actually say that, so the official reason was that the victim was a friend of Brett's family. Which she was--barely.

Lowdner, who already had one conviction and several charges of sexually assaulting children, had been accused of murdering 47-year-old Marilyn Terrill. Cuenca had prepared another case of sexual assault against him the year before, but the young witness had been too traumatized to testify and it was dismissed. Ever since this latest arrest, Cuenca had been hounding Brett about the case.

The usual investigation into the victim's background revealed that she was not actually Marilyn Terrill--or Julie Mann or Heather Dooley or Ida Shimmin or any other of the identities found among her papers. It was only after they peeled back multiple identities and found out she was really Deirdre Maurice and had gone to college in Dallas for few semesters, that Brett realized he had met her. Only once, but he knew she was a cousin to some of his sisters' friends, and had babysat for his parents a few times. It was a tenuous connection, and not normally enough to make him recuse himself, but this time it was a suitable reason to put the case into Cuenca's eager hands.

Since then, Brett hadn't thought much about the case--he had plenty of other work to keep him busy. But he'd worked with Clarence Ashe for a lot of years, and if the investigator said there was something he needed to see, then there was something he needed to see.

"Did you hear about Lowdner's defense?" Clarence asked him.

"Word was going around he was going to plead temporary insanity," Brett replied with a shrug. "Brought on by post-traumatic or something. Why? Is that definite?"

"Pretty much. Lowdner claims Terrill--er, Maurice--molested him over the period of two years--when he was nine and ten."

Brett let out a low whistle. "Well, unless he's got proof of that, I don't think Ava's got too much to worry about." He noticed Clarence's uncomfortable expression, "Did you find proof of that? Because if you did, Ava's the one you need to be talking to."

"Ava knows. We actually found journals where Maurice detailed her--games, she called them."

"Sick," Brett muttered. "That does make Ava's job tougher, but--"

"Brett."

Brett stopped and gave Clarence a hard look. "What the hell is going--" he stopped when Clarence held up an open book. "If that's one of the journals, you can't just--" A familiar name on the page caught his eye and chilled his blood. Grabbing the book, he slapped it down on the table in front of him, staring hard. There were six dates from October 17, 1980 to December 12, 1980 with the name "Nick Stokes" beside them. All of them except the last also had the words "Big Bad Wolf" next to them, while the last simply said "game over." After that, a different boy's name appeared with more detailed entries. 

With a horrible sense of foreboding, Brett began to turn back a page, only to have Clarence's hand come down on the page. "You don't want to do that, Brett."

"Move your hand," Brett growled.

With obvious reluctance, Clarence complied.

Brett turned the page. There were two more entries with Nick's name, the second also said "Big Bad Wolf," but the first...Brett only got partially through it before pushing the book away. The entry was written as though it were a storybook, with childish terms, but it still managed to relay all the details with painful clarity.

"When the defense sees this," Clarence's voice seemed to come from a great distance. "They'll probably try to locate some of her other victims to make Lowdner seem less--well. If your brother lives out-of-state, maybe they won't bother with him, but I thought in case they do..."

"Christ..." Brett whispered, pulling the book back in front of him and returning to the original pages. The only thing he could think to do was to look at it as though it was a case. "So what does _Big Bad Wolf_ mean? Is that code for...whatever _game_ \--" he spat the word. "--she played?"

"We're not sure about that yet. Some entries are detailed, some just have a few words--usually fairytale characters."

"And _game over_..."

"After that, there was always a new name. It looks like that's the point where she has to move on. Probably because she'd gotten worried people were beginning to suspect."

"No one ever--" Brett stopped before he blurted out that no one in his family had the slightest idea this had happened to Nick. "The last time was December 12, 1980. I met Chantelle in February of that year so this would be the Christmas when..." He felt the blood drain from his face to pool coldly in the pit of his stomach. "Oh, _Jesus_..."

  


_December 1980_

She charmed the hell out of his parents, but that didn't surprise Brett in the least. Chantelle Radcliffe didn't become Miss Teen Baton Rouge and the youngest president in Delta Gamma history without knowing how to make a good impression. It wasn't his parents Brett was worried about so much as his siblings, anyway, particularly two of the four sisters yet to return home for Christmas break. Joss, as his twin, was bound to interrogate her extra intensely, while Sammie, the family firecracker, would probably start foaming at the mouth as soon as she heard "beauty pageant."

On the other hand, Meredith, the only sister still at home, began worshiping Chantelle as soon as she heard. Meredith's only goal during her senior year was the crown of Homecoming Queen and anything Chantelle said was treated as gospel. As for nine-year-old Nick, he was polite, but without the inquisitiveness and enthusiasm Brett was used to from him. He was unusually quiet and looked a bit sulky, but Brett chalked it up to the kid feeling a little lost amidst the Christmas shuffle.

Brett and Chantelle had arrived early on Thursday afternoon, but by Friday evening, the house was practically empty. Inez had worked shortened hours all week and had Friday off so she could properly celebrate La Virgen de Guadalupe; their parents had gone up to the panhandle for Uncle Pete's annual javelina hunting trip, taking the family's big Pyrenees-Mastiff mix, Rowdy, with them; Meredith was cheering at the game; Brett and Chantelle were going to a party thrown by some of his high school friends and Nick was stuck at home with a babysitter. 

After some token protests the night before, and being told-- "There's no way around it, Pancho. Now leave it alone," by their father, Nick didn't complain again. Instead, he just watched the proceedings with those big brown eyes of his eyes. Brett would never admit it to everyone, but Nick's eyes always got to him a little. There was no reason for it. It wasn't like dark eyes were anything unusual in the family, Brett and Joss had the same color eyes as Nick, as did Adrienne. There was something different about Nick's, but then there had always been something a bit different about Nick himself. 

Whereas there were only five years separating the first six Stokes children, there was an eight-year gap before Nick arrived. Brett had never been left alone at Nick's age--had always been in the middle of a pack of children or at the very least had his twin close by. Keeping that in mind, Brett tried to cheer Nick up by promising to take him out Christmas shopping the next day. Instead of responding, Nick merely nodded and went up to his room.

Somewhat offended by the rebuff, Brett left him alone to sulk while he and Chantelle got ready for the party.

Just before the babysitter--Deirdre Maurice, but his parents referred to her as DeeDee--was due to arrive, Brett relented and went in to say goodnight to Nick. "Hey, kiddo," he said to the little lump curl up under the blankets. "We're going now. Aren't you gonna come down and say good night?" He was annoyed when Nick didn't respond, but tried to keep things upbeat. "Okay, if you're still a little shy around Chantelle..." he teased. "C'mon, I know you can't still be asleep." He waited a few more seconds, "Okay, kiddo. A tickle attack it is." He playfully grabbed his brother's arms through the blankets, but paused when he got absolutely no reaction. "Kiddo?" A harder shake. "Nick," he said louder, pulling back the covers, grasping Nick's shoulder and turning him onto his back. 

Nick's entire body was limp, and he didn't even twitch when Brett moved him.

"Nick!" Another, harder shake still didn't produce a response and Brett pressed his fingers to the slender neck in search of a pulse. It was there. 

At least he thought it was there.

Brett lifted Nick into a sitting position, only to have the dark head loll back almost bonelessly. That's when Brett got really scared.

"The babysitter is here," Chantelle announced from the doorway. "Are you--"

_Hospital--yes,_ Brett thought quickly. _Ambulance--no. Too long._ "He won't wake up," he said, picking Nick--along with most of his bedding--up in his arms. "We have to take him to the hospital."

"Give him to me," Chantelle said. "And we can--"

"I've got him," Brett brushed past her and started downstairs.

"Brett!" she rushed after him. "You have to drive. I don't know where the hospital is!"

Her words registered with him. "Okay, get in the car." He was vaguely aware of Chantelle breaking into a run and passing him, and of rushing past another person on his way out, but his attention was focused on Nick's face, looking for the slightest movement.

There was still none when he handed Nick to Chantelle in the passenger seat before jumping in and speeding to Parkland Memorial. He parked outside the ER and took Nick again, striding inside without once looking back. 

Nick was admitted immediately and whisked into one of the rooms while a nurse fired a barrage of questions--most of which he didn't know the answers to--at Brett before telling him to have a seat in the waiting room.

Chantelle was already seated, but rose as soon as he walked in. "Here," she handed him the car keys. "I found a parking spot," she added, as if that had been the plan all along.

"Thanks," Brett said as he absently took the keys, his eyes never leaving the door Nick had disappeared through. Should he call their parents? What if the doctors needed more information?

"Have you heard anything yet?"

Brett finally registered Deirdre's presence as she stood before him, hands twisting, expression panicked. She didn't look like someone who would have been very good at encountering an emergency on her own. Before he could answer, he saw their Dr. Broom beckoning to him.

Bewildered by the presence of their family doctor, Brett moved toward him.

"I was checking on two of my other patients here," Broom explained in response to Brett's unasked question. "And I happened to hear Nick had been brought in."

Brett felt some of the weight disappear from his shoulders. At least Dr. Broom already knew Nick's history--better than Brett, anyway.

"Has he been sick?" Broom asked.

"No, I don't think so. I mean, not that I know of."

"Well, his vitals are good and he did rouse a little."

"He did?" The rest of the weight vanished from Brett's shoulders. "So he's okay?"

"I want to keep him a bit longer, just to check a few more things, but right now I'd say that he took too much of some medicine meant for an adult. Cough medicine, maybe."

"My folks left to visit relatives this morning," Brett explained. "Nick seemed a little low, but--"

Broom nodded reassuringly. "He might have tried to take care of himself and taken too much. I'm going to take another look and get back to you."

Brett returned to the waiting room to relay this information and...wait.

They sat in silence for some time before Deirdre broke with the offer--"If you want to go ahead to your party, I can take Nick home."

Brett hesitated. Normally, there would be no question, but they _were_ expected and Chantelle certainly hadn't come all the way to Dallas just to sit in a hospital. Before he could decide, Chantelle did. 

"Of course Brett wants to be sure Nick is fine before we go anywhere. Don't you, Brett?"

There was a definite edge to her voice, but Brett wasn't sure what it meant. Even if the offer wasn't sincere, Brett took her up on it before she could change her mind. "Yeah, I'm not leaving until I know just what's going on with Nick."

Silence fell again. There were a few attempts at conversation, but after twenty minutes they stopped bothering. Finally, Dr. Broom appeared again and waved Brett over. Brett followed him to a room with several beds curtained off, relieved to be there. This wasn't where they put the serious cases.

"He's still groggy," Broom said. "We haven't gotten the results from his blood work yet, but he did say he took 'grown-up medicine.'"

"But he's gonna be okay?"

"Whatever he took, he didn't take enough to do serious damage. Other than somnolence, he isn't showing any of the other signs of toxicity. His vitals are all good, there's no sign of seizures. He's probably going to sleep for the rest of tonight and most of the morning, but other than that, he should be fine."

"He doesn't have to stay?"

"He'll probably do better at home, as long as there's someone to keep a close eye on him. I'll give you a list of signs to watch for. You can go in and see him while I finish his paperwork."

Brett stepped through the curtains Dr. Broom indicated and found Nick curled up on his side. It was something of a jolt for Brett--Nick looked so little and fragile on the hospital bed. Although Nick _was_ slightly smaller that the average nine-year-old, he'd always been healthy and strong.

"Hey," Brett said softly, waiting until the dark eyes opened and focused before continuing. "What were you thinkin', kiddo?"

"Sorry," the word was somewhat slurred. "Guess I took more'n I was s'posed to."

"I guess so," Brett agreed. "You scared the hell outta me."

"Sorry."

"S'okay," Brett started to muss the dark hair but wound up smoothing it into place instead. "I'm gonna tell Chantelle and DeeDee you're all right and then we'll get you home."

"Oh," Nick's voice was barely a whisper as he closed his eyes again.

"Be right back," Brett promised. He returned to the waiting room to find Chantelle was the only one there. "We can take Nick home in a few minutes. Where's DeeDee?"

"I sent her home," Chantelle replied in a voice much firmer than Brett had ever heard from the usually playful co-ed. "You weren't still planning on going to the party, were you?"

"Not now," Brett laughed.

"Sorry," Chantelle frowned lightly. "I was sure you'd want to stay with Nick. He must be kind of scared after all this, right?"

  


"Brett?"

_Scared? Kiddo must have been_ **_terrified_ ** _._

"Brett."

Brett looked up and realized Clarence had been trying to talk to him for several minutes. "Sorry, I was--sorry. What?"

"I just said you might want to--" Clarence paused and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "None of your family knew a thing about this, did they?"

Brett only shook his head.

"Jesus, Brett, I'm sorry. I just...thought if they tracked him down to testify, at least he'd have some warning..."

"I know," Brett assured him. "I appreciate it." And he did--the only thing worse than finding out like this would have been finding out in court. He handed the book back to Clarence, barely resisting the urge to wipe his fingers. In a desperate attempt to reorient himself, he looked down at the files he'd been working on, but they might as well have been written in hieroglyphics for all the sense they made. "I gotta go," he said, standing.

"Okay," Clarence nodded, rising as well. "I'll--I'll talk to you later."

Brett gathered the files into a single pile. "Thanks," he said as an afterthought to Clarence's retreating form. He felt sicker than ever as he locked up his office. At twenty he'd been more concerned with pleasing his girlfriend and showing her off--gratifying his dick and his ego--than with a kid brother dumb enough to take medicine he wasn't supposed to. If Chantelle hadn't stepped in, he would have left Nick--dazed and disoriented--with a monster.

Reflecting, Brett also recalled that not only had Chantelle made sure they stayed home with Nick, but she convinced Brett to let him sleep on the sofa with them while they watched movies. It certainly explained why Nick went from being shy and standoffish around Chantelle to looking at her like a lovesick puppy.

Brett leaned back and closed his eyes, unable to avoid the worst possibility any longer--that Nick's overdose of medicine hadn't been an accident after all.

He had to talk to Chantelle about this.

Then, God help him, he had to talk to Nick about this.

* * *

"Wait--where?"

"I'm not gonna tell you that," Nick laughed.

"Let me see if I got this right--we've been together for more than a year and you've got a ticklish spot that I don't know about?"

"You're enough trouble with the one you _do_ know ab--don't," Nick caught Warrick's hand before the fingers could seek out his ribs. "It's not fair when you aren't ticklish at all."

"My feet," Warrick pointed out, leaving his hands under Nick's shirt but stroking his back instead of his ribs.

"Sometimes," Nick said dryly. "Some days they're ticklish and some days they aren't. That's doesn't count. That's just...weird."

"Okay, that's it," Warrick shifted so instead of sitting next to Nick he was half on top of him. "Get those clothes off. I'm gonna find that spot if it's the last thing I do."

Laughing, Nick let Warrick pull his shirt off. "I've got no problem getting rid of the clothes, but I'm not gonna be the only one." Just as he reached for the buttons of Warrick's shirt, his land line rang.

"Let the machine pick it up."

"Sorry, I'd better get it."

"C'mon now," Warrick insisted. "I had a search goin' on here."

Nick grinned as Warrick tried to pin him to the sofa. Warrick may have had the height and weight advantage, but Nick was faster and more agile and managed to get to his phone before it stopped ringing. "Hello?" he said, a little breathless.

"Nick? It's Brett."

Nick tried to compose himself. His brother didn't call very often. "Hey. How's everything in Houston?"

"Actually, I'm calling because I'm coming to Vegas."

"Yeah?" Nick noticed Warrick getting off the sofa and held up his hand in warning, knowing what his lover was planning. One thing Warrick enjoyed--far too much in Nick's opinion--was trying to distract Nick when he was on the phone. And although Brett knew Nick way gay--he had come out to his family shortly after Nigel Crane's stalking--Nick doubted Brett would appreciate him fooling around with a guy while on the phone. He quickly sidestepped Warrick and tried to focus on what his brother was saying. "The kids, too? Because if there's anything in particular any of y'all want to see, I can get tickets."

"No, just me."

"Oh. Okay." Nick glared as Warrick advanced on him, even though his skin was tingling with anticipation. "When are you planning for?"

"As soon as I can get a flight out. Hopefully on the redeye tomorrow night."

Nick barely noticed Warrick had caught up to him until he felt an arm slide around his waist. "What's going on? Did something happen?" The arm retreated and Warrick moved in front of him, frowning with concern. "Brett?"

"I don't want to go into it over the phone."

"Jesus, Brett, you can't just--is it Mom? Or Dad?"

"No. No, everyone here is fine."

"Then what?"

"I just want to talk to you. It's not an emergency--really."

"Brett--"

"Look, I know it's rotten of me to just drop this on you, but I really want to be face to face when we talk. Okay?"

"Okay," Nick agreed, mostly because he knew Brett wasn't likely to change his mind. "Just call or leave a message to let me know when your flight gets in."

"I'll see you soon, kiddo," Brett said, and hung up.

Nick frowned as he turned the phone off. Brett hadn't called him _kiddo_ since high school.

"Hey," Warrick said quietly.

"Brett's flying in to talk to me," Nick put the phone back in its nest before dropping onto the sofa.

"And he didn't say about what." It wasn't a question.

"Nope. Just that everyone in the family is okay and that it isn't an emergency." Nick didn't know if he believed that part when Brett was catching the soonest flight possible. He shivered, and reached for his discarded shirt.

Warrick sat next to him and wrapped both arms around his bare torso. "You're not going to figure out what it is before he gets here."

Nick relaxed--this was preferable to a shirt any day. "I know," he admitted reluctantly.

"So don't waste a bunch of time worrying about it."

"Easy for you to say," Nick scowled. "How am I supposed to--"

The rest of his words were muffled by Warrick's kiss.

"Think you're going to distract me?" Nick asked when they parted. He didn't add that Warrick was off to a good start.

"Hey, you want to keep worrying about it, go ahead." Warrick leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Nick's ear before purring directly into it. "But while you are, I'm gonna be going over every inch of you looking for that second ticklish spot."

Warrick was so good at distraction it was scary.

* * *

"Brett, it's your dad," Chantelle walked into their bedroom. "He says it's important."

"Where are all my jeans?" Brett frowned.

"I moved them to the bottom drawer. You hardly wear them anymore." She put the phone into his hand. "Here."

With a great deal of trepidation, Brett put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Dad."

"I just got a call from Adam McAllister," Bill Stokes said without preamble.

Brett sighed--the McAllisters were Deirdre Maurice's cousins in Dallas.

"DeeDee Maurice is dead?" his father continued. "Murdered?"

"Yes."

"Are you working the case?"

"I recused myself," Brett replied, knowing where this was going.

Sure enough, his father was clearing his throat uncomfortably before continuing. "While I was looking into it, I heard some...there was a rumor that...well, the word is that her killer was someone she had...abused. There's talk that he wasn't the only one."

"Yes."

"She used to babysit Nick," Bill said tightly.

"I know."

"Brett--"

"I'm flying to Las Vegas tonight to talk to Nick." Brett met Chantelle's sympathetic gaze--she also knew where the conversation was about to go.

"Are you sure that's necessary?"

"She kept journals. His name is in one."

There was a barely audible "dear God," and then silence on his father's end.

"I'll call you when I get back, okay?"

His father said yes reluctantly and Brett used that as an excuse to say good-bye. He didn't want deal with his parents' reactions right now--he was having enough trouble with his own.

The rest of the day was filled with shifting cases and appointments to clear the few days he needed, packing and trying to think of a way to broach the subject with Nick.

Brett had known Chantelle would be furious when he told her, but hadn't expected her shock. "I thought maybe you sensed or suspected something back then."

"Not really," Chantelle chewed on a beautifully manicured nail--a habit she had broken in her teens. "I didn't like her, but I didn't think she was capable of--" she couldn't finish.

"I thought that was why you changed your mind about staying home that night."

"Oh...no, I just wanted us to stay with Nick," she shook her head sadly. "He was so _little_."

Brett smiled for the first time since seeing the journal, but felt chilled as well. So it wasn't even suspicion that had saved Nick that night. Just the softheartedness of his then-girlfriend, for whom, as the youngest of three girls, a little brother was a novelty.

It was a thought that returned to Brett once he was settled on the plane. It certainly helped explain why Nick was always so comfortable with Chantelle--there were times that he seemed more comfortable with her than his own brother--and maybe why Nick was easily Chantelle's favorite in-law. But then, Nick was a favorite among several in-laws; Susannah's and Jocelyn's husbands both got along well with him--even Samantha's husband, a New Yorker who didn't like anyone, liked Nick. Of course, that could be because Nick was the only in-law they didn't see on a regular basis. As the only one not living in Texas, they saw him a few times a year at most.

That brought up a host of other questions Brett wasn't eager to consider. What _was_ Nick's real reason for moving more than 1200 miles away from his usually close-knit family?

Nick's original reason had been that the opportunity to work in the Las Vegas Crime Lab was too good not to take. Brett, like everyone, assumed it would only be for a year or two at the most. Even as year after year passed, their mother always insisted he would return when he was ready to "settle down."

That went on until two years ago when Nick told them he was gay. From then on, everyone just assumed _that_ was his real reason for living two states away. _Assumed_ , because after Nick told them, no one ever said another word about it.

Maybe there were other things that had made the move an easy one for Nick. After all, how difficult could it be to leave a family when you believed they might not have enough love to accept you as you were? And why should Nick believe they loved him enough if they had failed to protect him when he needed it most?

* * *

Nick did his best to hide his nervousness behind a smile as he greeted his older brother with a handshake. He was startled when Brett pulled him into a quick one-armed hug, then leaned back slightly to study him. Not knowing what Brett was looking for, Nick met his gaze curiously.

He was determined to maintain his cool, and didn't ask about the reason for Brett's visit. It wasn't that difficult, because part of Nick really didn't want to know. Instead, he asked about Chantelle and the kids while they collected Brett's single bag. 

Much of his shift had been spent wondering what might be going on, and none of the reasons he came up with were pleasant. Initially, he was worried that Brett and Chantelle might be having problems, although he couldn't think of why Brett would come to him with it. Nonetheless, he was relieved Brett assured him that everyone in the family was fine.

The only other thing remotely like a problem would be when he'd come out to his family shortly after his encounter with Nigel Crane. Nick wasn't even sure that could be considered a problem, since no one in the family had ever spoken of it again. Nothing had really changed, except that everyone had stopped asking when he was going to move back to Texas. Nick still wasn't sure how to feel about that change.

So...what? Brett had drawn the short straw and been sent to disown him on behalf of the family?

Logically, Nick knew that was ridiculous, but thought had nagged at him since Brett's call.

Nick didn't hint around as they climbed into his Ranger and drove away, either. If Brett didn't want to discuss it over the phone, then Nick was sure he didn't want to hear it while he was driving. Instead, the stilted small talk continued until Nick's cell rang.

It was the newest prosecutor, asking where the hell he was and why he wasn't at the meeting to prepare for the Mendez trial. Nick stammered as he tried to recall when the meeting or trial date had been moved up. As far as he knew, the case wouldn't even be arraigned for another two weeks.

Saying so to the irrate lawyer on the phone wouldn't do him a lick of good, however, so he quickly promised the man he would be there as soon as he picked up his files from the lab.

Files that weren't close to ready.

How the hell had he missed the notice of the change? Christ, this was all he needed. This never happened to him--he always tried to make a point of having his files lined up as soon as the prosecution needed them. And of course it would have to happen in front of Brett, who was an ADA himself. 

_Great. The one time he sees anything to do with my job and I'm screwing up._ With a sigh, Nick flipped the phone shut. "I'm really sorry about this--"

"Meeting with your DA," Brett said, dispelling any hope Nick had that he might not have been paying attention.

"ADA. New one. We must have got our wires crossed." _There. That sounds better than I don't know what the hell is going on._ "I'll drop you off and then go take care of this."

"Sure."

As he pulled into his driveway, Nick didn't know what to make of Brett being so calm about the whole thing. His brother didn't even look annoyed as he got out and took his bag from the back. Not that Nick expected him to throw a fit, but Brett wasn't exactly the most patient person and for things--important things--to be forestalled because of Nick's mistake...Nick had expected _some_ sign of irritation.

"Sorry about this," he said again as he unlocked his door and led Brett inside. "Just make yourself at home...grab something to eat or...whatever. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay," Brett nodded.

"I know you wanted to talk..."

"It'll hold," Brett assured him.

"Okay. Sorry, man, I really don't know how this--"

"It happens."

"Right." _Why did it have to happen today of all days?_

Nick left for the crime lab in a lousy mood. When he returned forty-five minutes later, his mood kept shifting back and forth between amusement and frustration. He was trying to see the funny side of the situation, but it was difficult when he had so many other things on his mind. 

"That didn't take as long as I thought," Brett commented from where he was sitting on the sofa, remote in one hand and coffee in the other. Nick was oddly relieved to see that Brett had taken his _make yourself at home_ to heart.

"Yeah, and that ADA isn't going to be around as long as he thinks, either." Nick shrugged out of his jacket and headed to the fridge for a bottle of water.

"What?" Brett turned off the television.

"My case was Albert Mendez. Today's meeting was about Tomas Me _nen_ dez," Nick shook his head and took a sip of water. "You'd think he'd at least double check something like that before calling to bawl someone out."

"So you brought the wrong notes?"

"Wrong notes?" Nick snorted. "Hell, it's not even my case."

"I hope you lit into him."

"Nah," Nick shrugged, his mood improving. "I don't have to. He kept another CSI waiting for forty-five minutes."

"So?"

"So," Nick grinned. "Catherine Willows will tear a strip of him better than I ever could. Anyway, that's settled and--" he stopped when he heard the sound of a car outside. _Is that stopping here?_ He frowned and listened closely. _Yeah, it's here._

"What?" Brett asked.

"I think someone's here." 

"Are you expecting anyone?"

"No." His first thought was Warrick, of course, even though it didn't sound like Warrick's jeep. What's more, Warrick knew Brett was coming and wouldn't interrupt them unless it was an emergency. That didn't stop Nick from _wishing_ it was Warrick. He walked to the window, "It's a cab," he said. Then a couple emerged from the vehicle and for several seconds all he could do was stare in shock.

"Nick..?"

Nick turned to look at his brother, still at a loss for words. This was _not_ a coincidence, he knew that much, but he had no idea what it could possibly mean. He walked out to greet the couple coming up his driveway. "Hey, Mom," he forced a smile as his mother gave him a tight, tight hug and his father clapped him on the shoulder, "Cisco." 

He drew back to find them both studying him with the same expression Brett had. He was getting tired of that expression and more worried by the minute, but was determined to maintain some semblance of normalcy. 

"Come on in," he said, talking their overnight bag from Cisco.

Brett was off the sofa and waiting for them. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Brett," their mother chided immediately.

"We lucked out," Cisco said. "Baines--you remember Baines Norris--had to make a quick trip to Vegas and was able to give us a ride. We fly back with him tomorrow."

"I didn't ask how you got here, I asked why the hell you came at all!"

Nick realized his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.

"It certainly wasn't to have you speak to us like that," there was an edge to their mom's normally even tone.

That would have gotten an immediate apology out of Nick, but Brett had inherited a good deal of their father's arrogance and didn't look the least bit contrite. "This is going to be difficult enough without a bunch of people here."

_Enough is enough,_ Nick decided. " _What_ is going to be difficult? You guys are freaking me out."

"We needed to be here," Jillian said firmly.

Brett scowled. "He did _not_ need all of us hear to tell him that Deirdre Maurice is dead!" 

Nick dropped the suitcase and swallowed hard. After the conference, he had tried to track down his old babysitter. He hadn't been able to locate her, and had spent several months at it without success, although he intended to try again in another few months. Now it looked like that wouldn't be necessary. But that still didn't explain--"Why would _anyone_ need to be here to tell me that?"

All three turned toward him and Nick felt familiar knots begin forming in his stomach. Their expressions looked an awful lot like pity and that was the last thing Nick ever wanted. 

_They knew_. 

The logical, scientific investigator in him knew that somehow his parents and brother had found out. There was another part of him that hoped if he _acted_ like nothing had happed, this would all go away.

That was the part Nick decided to go with. "I mean, I'm sorry to hear about it," he nearly choked on those words. "But why would you have to come here in person--"

"Pancho."

It was a soft tone Nick rarely heard from his father and brought a lump to his throat almost immediately. Trying not to blink, Nick silently willed his eyes not to tear up.

"Nick..." Brett began and Nick gratefully focused on him--it seemed like the safest option at this point. "Deirdre Maurice was murdered in Houston--I opted out of the case, but I still heard about it--and her killer claims she had sexually abused him as a child."

_They're just coming to check. They don't actually know anything. You just have to tell them what they want to hear and everyone can go home happy._

Before Nick could speak, Brett went on, "Initially, the prosecutor thought his claim was a lie, strictly to help his case, but then they found proof."

"Proof?" Nick knew his lips formed the word, but no sound came out.

"She kept journals, detailing her victims and what she did to them."

Nick reached blindly until his hand came in contact with a stool, then he stumbled back against it. _She wrote about it. About him. About what she had done to him. Anyone could read about it._ Nausea nearly overwhelmed him and he had to swallow several times to keep it at bay.

"Nick..." his mom said softly.

He couldn't look at her, knowing it would destroy what little was left of his shredded composure. "She wrote about it..." his voice came out as a croak.

"Sweetheart, we're so sorry we didn't--"

"No!" Nick threw up his hand. "Oh, Jesus. Don't...don't--" This is too much. Too much to deal with. Too much reaction. He still hadn't wrapped his mind about his family _knowing_ , much less wanting to talk about it.

Silence fell immediately in response to his protest, which surprised Nick a little. When his family wanted answers, they weren't usually willing to wait very long for them. Nick kept his eyes on the floor, letting five, then ten, then twenty minutes tick away in blessed silence. 

Except for Cisco clearing his throat every now and again.

Nick fought his first instinct, which was to apologize--although he wasn't even sure what he would apologize _for_. After another ten minutes, Nick decided he had to say _something_. He took a deep breath and was positive he heard everyone else hold theirs...waiting. That only robbed him of his voice again.

It must have been some sort of signal, because his mother tried again. "Nick, we're so sorry. We should have noticed...should have done something. When I think what I let go on for months--"

_Months..? Oh god..._ Well, that was one thing he could clear up easily. "It was only one time, Mom," he said, with a vague sense of pride that his voice barely shook.

His words were greeted with another silence, and more of those _looks_ were exchanged.

"Nick," Brett's voice was rough with emotion. "You don't have to try and cover anymore."

"I'm not covering," Nick insisted.

"She babysat you more than once," Cisco pointed out carefully.

"There's more than one entry in her journal," Brett added.

"Yeah, and she's a really reliable source," Nick snapped. It was one thing for them to find out, but it was completely another for them to come to his house and try telling _him_ what had happened. That was the end of the line.

"Nick," his mom sounded helpless.

Nick hated that. His mom _never_ sounded helpless. He took another deep breath and blew it out slowly. His stomach settled. Here, at least, was something he could explain. "After the first time, whenever she babysat, I'd bring Rowdy into my room." Knowing it was wrong. Knowing that when they had visitors, Rowdy wasn't allowed in the house. The big dog had been too protective of the family and too unpredictable around outsiders.

"Rowdy..." Cisco said in disbelief.

"Oh. My god," Brett's eyes were wide. "That's what it meant..."

"What _what_ meant?" Nick asked.

"There was only one entry with actual details," Brett explained, obviously uneasy sharing. "Nearly every other entry had your name and _Big Bad Wolf_. We thought it was code for some sort of game, but--she meant Rowdy."

"Yeah," Nick nodded. "He'd only let her as far as my doorway." 

"You were...punished," Cisco sounded pained. "Whenever I caught you with Rowdy in your room."

"Yeah," Nick agreed. _Sound calm. Sound like this is no big deal. It'll go away sooner._ "But you didn't always catch me. Lots of times I managed to sneak him out again when I heard you guys come home."

"I would ground you..." his father was gripping the chair back so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"So you'd ground me," Nick tried to shrug nonchalantly, but knew he wasn't successful. "Better being grounded than--" He stopped when his mother let out a choked gasp. "I didn't mean..." _Jesus, you don't know when to_ ** _shut up_** _._

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us? We would have--"

Nick wasn't ready for those questions. Questions he'd never been able to answer himself. The brief calm that had settled on him abruptly disappeared. "No. _No_. Okay?" He held up his hands desperately, since it seemed to have worked on them last time. "I can't--I can't do this right now."

"Nick--"

"No. It's just--it seems like just a little while ago no one knew and now--God!"

"Nick," Brett voice was a little shaky as well. "You have nothing to--you have no reason to be ashamed."

"I'm not." But was he? Was that why he felt like crawling out of his own skin? Strange, he hadn't felt like this when he told Warrick.

"Please," his mother said. "You have to talk about this--"

Of course, telling Warrick had been _his_ choice. "Look, I explained about...about Rowdy. It's not as bad as you thought, right?"

"Not as bad as-- _Pancho_..."

"We just want you to know...oh, sweetheart, we just want to--"

"This is why I wanted to be here alone to tell him," Brett cut off their parents. "I didn't know how he would handle it."

_Handle it?_ "I can handle this," Nick insisted, but knew it was weak-sounding. It probably didn't help that his eyes kept coming close to overflowing. "Just not right now," he added lamely. _Out,_ his mind was telling him. _Get out. Get away._

"Pancho--"

"I have to _work_ tonight!" Nick said, his voice rising. "I'm not gonna be able to--okay, look, I have to go."

"Go?"

"I can't do this. Not right now." _Give them_ ** _something_** _and maybe they'll drop it for now._ "After work. Tomorrow morning. I'll grab some breakfast for us on the way home." Nick pushed off the stool and made a--

_break for it_

\--beeline for the closet by his door.

"Wait, Nick--" his mom followed, although she stopped when he turned around.

"What time does your flight leave?"

"Baines said to be there anytime between noon and one," Cisco sounded reluctant.

"Mine leaves at five," Brett added.

"See? Plenty of time." Nick got his jacket out of the closet. "Look, I just need to...shake this off before work. I'm gonna go...I'll just hang out somewhere." He desperately kept up a steady stream of words, hoping they wouldn't interrupt. "There's take-out menus in that cupboard by the counter. Most of the places deliver, so..." _Almost there_ , he thought as he took his cell and keys from the end table. "I'll see y'all in the morning."

" _Pancho_ ," Cisco's voice made him freeze. "This can't wait."

_Oh, Cisco. Please, please,_ ** _please_** _don't do this to me._ The tears were closer than ever to actually falling. "Why? Why can't it wait?" Nick hated that he almost sounded like he was begging.

His father studied him silently, then gave the barest of nods.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered, and bolted.

Once he pulled away from the house, guilt overwhelmed him. He considered going back to his house, but the thought made his chest tighten painfully. _It's downright rude to leave your family stranded in the middle of Vegas,_ hollered the manners that had been ingrained in him since an early age.

With some effort, he managed to ignore those manners. These were three adults, all of them far from destitute. The phone book was in with the menus--they could call a cab, go anywhere they wanted. Hell, they even had his cell number--although he wasn't sure he would answer it. In any case, they were _not_ stranded.

As for where _he_ was going, fortunately that required no thought whatsoever.

  


Taking off his headphones, Warrick listened again. It _was_ the doorbell--difficult to tell over the mixing he'd been doing on his laptop. A glance out the window revealed the last person he'd expected to see today. Quickly, he opened the door.

"Can I come in?"

Like he had to ask. Warrick would never say no to that question from Nick Stokes, and certainly not when the Texan looked pale and shaken. Instead of just stepping aside, Warrick caught him by the arm and drew him inside. "What's going on? I thought your brother was coming in today."

"He did," Nick's shoulders were hunched. "And about an hour later my folks showed up."

"What?! Why?"

"DeeDee Maurice is dead."

Warrick almost asked "which one?" but Nick cleared up the question before he could.

"She was murdered...in Houston, which is how Brett heard about it. Apparently a former victim..." Nick stopped, swallowing hard. "The investigators found...apparently she kept a journal of the boys she--"

Warrick stopped the words by pulling Nick into his arms and holding on tight. He knew that only second to the actual abuse, what Nick hated most was the thought of people knowing about it. _Christ, it's almost like Nigel Crane, only eleven years earlier._ Despite that, Nick had searched for the woman, albeit without success.

Nick hung on just as tightly, but after several minutes he pulled away. "Can we sit? I swear I feel like I've been working a month of triples." 

Once on the sofa, Nick immediately settled in close to Warrick again. For a long time they just sat in silence, broken only by Nick's grateful sigh when Warrick began running his fingers through Nick's dark hair and massaging his scalp slightly.

Eventually, haltingly, Nick began to talk. After the conference, Nick hadn't mentioned his babysitter again, except when he was searching for her, and although Warrick always _meant_ to mention it--to mention the discrepancy he'd noted--he'd never actually worked up the nerve. As Nick relayed the conversation between himself, his brother and parent, Warrick realized with a sense of relief that Nick _hadn't_ just been trying to "minimize the damage." That it had only happened once during those four months.

Right on the heels of relief, though, came the image of a nine-year-old Nick with only his own wits and a faithful dog standing between him and a monster. Every time she babysat him during those four months, he'd have to find a way to sneak the dog in, watch that he didn't get caught at it, watch that she didn't find a way around the dog, and when he could, watch for the opportunity to sneak the dog back out or face being grounded the next day.

Almost before he knew he was doing it, Warrick found himself raining kisses down on the dark hair, then Nick's temples and forehead and face.

Nick accepted the gentle bombardment with a soft laugh until he caught sight of the tears Warrick hadn't managed to blink away. "Don't, Rick," he said frowning. "Don't start treating me like--"

"A victim?" Warrick said, letting out a laugh of disbelief. "Maybe... _maybe_ that first time, but after that you never were. Man, you must have been some gutsy kind of nine-year-old."

"I wasn't," Nick whispered. "I was so scared. Whenever they said DeeDee was babysitting, I'd just..." He shook his head and pressed his face into the crook of Warrick's neck.

"That's what I mean, baby," Warrick said, with more soft kisses. "You might have been scared, but you kept it together somehow. You thought your way through it. You saved yourself." He kept murmuring similar reassurances, emphasized by kisses, until he felt the tension leaving Nick's body.

"I wonder if I should go back and talk to them."

_Of course_ , Warrick smiled wryly. "Nicky, this is all you. I think you should do whatever you want. Whether you go back today or not. Hell, whether you go in to work tonight or not, all up to you. Either way--"

"I'm definitely not missing work." He was quiet for a moment. "It doesn't sound weird, does it? That I'm hoping work is busy? Not that I want--"

"I get you," Warrick nodded. "You want something that's going to need your full concentration. Don't worry, babe, I've had the same feeling. I think everyone has."

Nick nodded. "Maybe I'll just phone them. I'll phone Brett...no, I don't have his cell number in my phone. Jeez, not Mom, she's probably still upset and I'm not sure I could--" He let his head drop onto Warrick's shoulder briefly. "I'll have to call Cisco, I guess." He reached for his jacket and pulled out his cell, leaning more solidly against Warrick as he did so.

Normally this would be time for Warrick to start thinking of ways to try touching and teasing Nick while he was on the phone, but with Nick cuddled up as close as possible, it was really a moot point.

"Cisco? Hey, it's me...Look, I'm sorry for taking off but--" Nick fell silent. "Brett said that? Well, yeah, that's pretty much--no. No, I'm okay. I'm at a friend's." He glanced at Warrick as though making sure the definition was okay with him. 

What did Nick think he was going to do? Grab the phone and yell "I'm his boyfriend!"? It was almost enough to tempt Warrick into trying to distract Nick after all, but he managed to restrain himself.

After another few minutes of talking, Nick said good-bye and hung up the phone, looking relieved. "Brett said...well, pretty much what you said. That now that it was out in the open, it was up to me to decide when and how much I wanted to talk about it."

"Very smart guy, your brother," Warrick grinned.

Nick returned the grin, nudging him softly in the ribs. "So can I hang out here until work?"

"Baby, you really gotta stop with those dumb questions."

* * *

As he'd promised, Nick stopped at his favorite restaurant to pick up breakfast. Maybe he took a little longer than usual to decide what to get, but that was just because he was trying to decide what his family would like. He got a big order, even though he wasn't sure anyone would have much of an appetite--he knew he wouldn't.

When he walked in, his parents were sitting on the sofa, and Brett was on a stool by the counter. It was plain they had heard his vehicle and were waiting for him, but that didn't bother Nick too much. He was just glad they hadn't converged on him by the door. 

He gave his parents a tentative smile as he took off his shoes. "Hey."

Their simple responses of "mornin', sweetheart," and "hey, Pancho," surprised him, but also came as a huge relief.

Walking into the kitchen, he began to empty the bag, then leaned across to speak quietly to Brett. "Where'd you find the Valium?" he asked.

Brett gave him a half-grin. "Smartest thing you could have done was to clear out the way you did," he answered at the same volume. "Better not to give them a choice about taking the time to let everything calm down a bit."

"They were okay with it?" 

"I wouldn't go that far. But it got better after you called."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about--" Nick stopped when Brett stood up to lean in even closer.

"You gotta stop doing that, kiddo," his voice was a whisper, but that didn't diminish its strength. "Stop apologizin' when you haven't done a damn thing wrong. That might be why the folks run a little roughshod over you."

Nick blinked in surprise, then felt a smile tug at his lips. "Okay. Okay, thanks. Anything else?"

"Yeah." When Brett sat down again, his smirk was back. "Mom and Dad slept in your bed. Mom changed the sheets first, a'course. After she found them."

"Oh, god." Nick quickly turned to get plates and cutlery and to hide his red face, ignoring Brett's chuckling. Despite that, Nick found his mood was lighter as he transferred everything to his dining table. He cleared his throat and hoped his blush had died down. "Soup's on."

Their parents got up to join them at the table. Conversation was limited to the food and Nick's shift at work, which was much easier, but completely unnatural. Brett seemed all right with it, but Nick could tell it was taking a lot of effort for his parents to keep from bringing _it_ up. 

Nick was grateful and since there were fewer knots than yesterday, managed to eat _some_ of his breakfast. Not much, though, because there was no telling what his stomach was going to do once they did start talking about it. Realizing he was never _really_ going to be ready for this, Nick finally pushed his plate aside and pulled his coffee cup in front of him.

His mother's eyes darted to the half-eaten plate, then to his face. Seeing the worry there, Nick almost apologized again, but remembered Brett's words at the last minute. "Thanks," he said. "For waiting."

"Not like we had a choice," Cisco grunted.

"Yeah, I--I meant this morning. Yesterday I was--I just needed to..." Great. He was going to start rambling like an idiot in a second. "It was just a shock."

"It was a shock for us, too," his father almost sounded defensive. Nick knew that couldn't be good.

"I know it was--"

"Nick, _why_...why didn't you--" his mother couldn't finish.

Nick had the sinking feeling he wasn't even remotely ready for this, after all. "I don't know."

"Did she threaten you?" Cisco asked.

_Yep. That's it, Cisco. She threatened me. She threatened me with a gun, a rifle, a gang of outlaws_ ** _and_** _the mob, because that's how much it would take before any son of yours was scared into silence_ , was what Nick _wanted_ to say. Instead he could only shrug as he thought back, "I don't remember, really. She told me not to tell, but I don't think she actually threatened me."

"You thought we wouldn't believe you?" Cisco persisted, now obviously determined to get answers.

Nick was slow in answering--he had no choice about that, really, because it was difficult to now recall a time he'd tried so hard to forget. He knew he never would have been able to tell his father under _any_ circumstances, but he didn't want to say that. Strange going back, figuring out his nine-year-old mind set. "I knew it was wrong," he said, and saw bewilderment on everyone's faces. "I mean, I knew it was wrong for an adult to do that to a kid." Of course he'd known that. Growing up in the family he had, how could he not? Although his parents had rarely discussed cases in front of their children, a curious and observant child could learn a lot from the pieces of information he'd heard here and there.

Not quite enough in some cases, though, Nick realized.

"I'd heard enough at nine to know that if a man did anything like that to a girl, it was wrong. I think I even knew that if a man did that to a boy--if it had been a man I might have told, but...I don't think I'd ever heard of a woman doing that to a boy--to anyone." Finally, _finally_ , he could look back and sympathize with that mixed-up little kid. "I guess I thought...maybe it didn't count? Or...I don't know."

His mother reached over and touched his arm, and when Nick didn't pull away, she took his hand and squeezed it tight. It didn't look like she had any intention of letting go, either. "Sweetheart, we're so sorry--"

"Please, don't--" Nick cut her off quickly. Even worse than trying to explain was trying to make them feel better. What could he say-- _it's okay_? It _wasn't_ okay. None of it was. He had worked through it enough to be able to live with it, but knew that consoling them about it was beyond his capability. Still, there had to be a way to make them feel a little better. "I didn't _want_ anyone to find out."

"Why didn't you mention it when you were older?" Cisco, Nick knew, thought that if he got enough answers, it would make sense eventually.

"I didn't see the point, I guess. For the longest time, I didn't think about it at all. I did...I did look for her." He didn't say how recent his search was, "But I never could track her down."

"She had five or six aliases," Brett said. "Some of them probably stolen IDs, too."

It suddenly occurred to Nick that there were other reasons his parents wished he'd told. "Look, I know if I had told you, maybe she could have been stopped years ago. Believe me, I've thought about that, too, and I know it was...irresponsible of me."

"What?"

"I know if I'd told, it could have prevented a lot of--" Nick stopped when his mother's hand tightened around his.

"Don't do that, Nick," she said seriously. "There's no way to say what would have happened."

Nick was grateful for her words. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to let go of the guilt completely, but they helped.

"You got through it without help from anyone and made something out of your life," Cisco's voice was firm. "I don't see how anyone could expect more."

Nick looked down at his coffee cup, not knowing what to say in response to his father's words and not wanting anyone to see the tears they brought to his eyes.

"Pancho..." Cisco suddenly sounded hesitant. "There's just one more thing I'd like to know and then we don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to."

Nick kept his gaze on his cup as he nodded.

"Did that...? Is that why..?"

The way his father was stumbling threw Nick off balance.

"Does that have anything to do with why you're gay?"

"Bill!" Mom exclaimed.

"For _Chrissake_ , Dad!" Brett yelled.

"Brett!" Mom turned on her older son.

Nick looked up at the outburst and a watery laugh escaped him at the sight of his father's disconcerted expression. "Actually, I wondered about that I few years myself."

Cisco looked at his wife as if to say-- _See?_

"Of course, _I'd_ figured that part out by the time I finished college," Nick couldn't resist.

Brett snickered.

That dispelled much of the tension around the table, and after a few stops and starts the conversation settled into the rest of the family and everyone's work. As soon as Nick began to clear the table his Mom helped, despite his protestations. He relented when it became clear that she wanted to reassure herself more than anything and wasn't going to let him out of her sight until she absolutely had to. Even as they washed the dishes, rarely more did a few minutes pass without her touching his shoulder or giving his arm a quick squeeze.

When the time did come for them to leave, Nick found himself in an unexpected skirmish. He thought it was just a given that he would be driving his parents to the airport, but they refused, saying they came by cab and could go back the same way. They overrode Nick's protests by saying he would be driving Brett to the airport later and they knew he slept during the day. Finally, everyone agreed that Brett would take them to the airport in Nick's truck while Nick got some sleep.

Nick was glad he'd lost this battle when it came time to say good-bye. His mother wouldn't let go of him until Brett said, "Mom, if you don't stop huggin' on him, you're gonna miss the plane."

That wasn't so bad, but when Cisco embraced him and whispered roughly, "My boy, I'm so sorry," Nick came close to losing his composure and was relieved not to be in public.

Once they left, Nick went to bed and tried to get some sleep, but without success. He was still too unsettled by the events of the past two days to relax enough to drift off. He stayed in bed, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions still overwhelming him. Brett was back in thirty-minutes--good time for a tourist--and Nick decided he might as well get up. Pulling on fresh clothes, he wandered out to find Brett fixing himself a cup of coffee. "Get them off all right?"

Brett turned to look at him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Nope," Nick sat on one of the stools.

"Yeah, they're off." Brett walked to the counter and leaned a hip against it. "Believe me, I had no idea they were going to show up."

"I figured that out," Nick said, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Dad called me after he heard from the McAllisters. I swear, if I'd known they were going to fly out here, I would have lied."

"It's okay."

"It's not. I wanted to break the news as easy as possible, not blurt it out in the middle of a shouting match."

Nick shook his head. "I don't think there was any easy way to break the news."

"Look, I know the Judge said we wouldn't talk about it anymore," Brett began, and smiled a bit when Nick laughed. "But there's a couple more things I need to discuss with you."

"Okay," Nick took a deep breath, but found he didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable now that it was only one on one. "Shoot."

"There's a chance that the defense will call some of Maurice's victims in the hope of helping Lowdner's case."

"Oh." So much for not being uncomfortable.

"Being out-of-state, you might be able to get out of it."

"The defense must be pretty desperate," Nick said. Anything was easier than thinking about how many people would end up knowing about this.

"I guess. Why?"

"Sounds like a last ditch attempt, putting people who were abused by Deirdre on the stand. It'll just show how many _didn't_ turn into killers."

"Y'know, it's not too late for you to go back to law school," Brett smiled.

"No, thanks. I'd rather work with evidence. I don't have to make deals with devils."

Brett's eyebrows went up.

Too late, Nick realized what he'd said. "I don't mean--there's nothing wrong with being a lawyer. It's just--" Brett laughed, letting him off the hook. "What else did you want to ask about?" Nick asked.

Any humor in Brett's manner disappeared immediately. "That Christmas. Mom and Dad took Rowdy hunting with them."

"Oh. Yeah," Nick shook his head. "That."

"That," Brett repeated.

"I _really_ don't remember a lot there. Just waking up in the hospital and again at home on the couch with you guys."

"Nick," Brett set aside his coffee cup and leaned down so they were eye to eye. "I understand you must have been desperate, but I just need to know if...have you ever tried again?"

_Again?_ Nick frowned, bewildered, until the implications sunk it. He was amazed that Brett would think that of him, but in hindsight, could see how it might have appeared. "No!" he hastened to assure his brother. "That wasn't intentional. I mean, it _was_ intentional, but not in the way you're thinking. I--" Strange that after everything he'd talked about, _this_ would embarrass him as well. "I was a little kid...a dumb little kid. I'd asked Mom once--I don't know how long before this it was--when she was giving me cough medicine, why I had to take different stuff from everyone else."

Now Brett looked confused, "You did?"

"Everyone else took the adult stuff, yeah? So Mom told me that there was grown-up medicine and if I took it, it would make me sick. I was nine--I took her literally." Nick shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "So when they told me DeeDee was coming to babysit...well, I thought getting sick meant _getting sick_. And I figured if I was barfing all night she wouldn't want to come near me. I took...well, I took a lot. Too much, obviously, but I never meant to..." He met Brett's eyes, "Jeez, Brett, have you been thinking that since you found out?"

Brett's shoulders sagged and his let out a huge sigh. "Yeah. I mean--hell, what would you have thought?"

Nick nodded, "I can see where you're coming from."

Brett studied him for so long that Nick had to fight not to shift self-consciously. "It _never_ occurred to you to tell anyone?" 

He almost sounded pleading, but Nick wasn't sure what he was asking for. All he could give at this point was honesty. "Like I said, the first time I did think about it, but after that. Nothing actually happened again, so it just became something I had to...deal with." Nick couldn't remember ever seeing his brother look so unhappy. "Brett, I got through it."

"Alone."

"Look, you kept anything from happening to me at Christmas," Nick reminded him, dismayed when his words only made Brett wince.

"That wasn't me," Brett's voice was hoarse. "Chantelle sent her away while I was in with you. She felt bad for you because you were so young."

"Chantelle knows about this, then?"

Brett nodded, "I told her when I first found out. I'm sorry, but--"

"No, it's okay. Tell her...tell her I said thanks." After he said it, Nick realized it was probably a strange thing to say, but decided nothing could be too weird by this point.

Brett studied him again, his expression searching. Nick remained quiet under his gaze, although it wasn't easy. After several minutes, Brett nodded, then reached over to muss his hair.

"I think I'm a little too old for that," Nick grumbled, fixing his hair even though it was already messy from his tossing and turning.

"I'm still older, so it's okay."

"How much can you tell me about this case?"

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds like your office really wants to put this guy away. I mean, I know he's a killer, but when there's proof that the murder victim abused him...and others, that can get iffy. Why no deal?"

That only made Brett do that whole staring thing again, but this time with a hint of a smile. "You're right. He was up before on charges of sexual abuse, but the kids were too traumatized to testify." He paused, still looking at Nick, "The defense would have to be crazy to call you to the stand."

Talking about that case led to talking about another case and another until they'd passed the rest of Brett's visit comparing notes on cops, DAs and CSIs. When it came time to take Brett to the airport, Nick had a few new tips for handling impatient DAs and Brett had some specifics on what to ask CSIs for in regard to trace evidence.

Their parting at the airport wasn't nearly as emotional as the one with their parents, but Brett's hug was hard enough that Nick thought he heard his ribs creak.

He took his time driving back from the airport, opting for a longer way that meant less traffic so he could finally wind down from the surprise, whirlwind visit. He still hadn't come to terms with the idea that people--from his family to complete strangers--would know about _it_ now. 

When his cell rang, he checked the ID before answering, half-hoping for a call from work to distract him. 

Even better, it was Warrick, "Hey," Nick said.

"Hey. You on your way to or back from the airport?"

"Back."

"Well, I'm just pulling up to your place. Mind if I let myself in?"

"Go ahead. I'll see you in a few." Nick hung up and stepped on the accelerator.

Warrick was sitting on the sofa, but stood as soon as Nick walked in. "I was halfway here before I realized maybe you'd rather have some time to yourself, so I can just take off if--"

Nick cut him off by pressing as close as possible and pulling Warrick's head down for a kiss.

"Okay, then," Warrick smiled when the kiss finally ended.

Sighing deeply, Nick let his head fall onto Warrick's shoulder. Warrick sat, drawing Nick down with him. "That bad?"

"My dad thinks _that's_ why I'm gay, my brother thought I'd tried to kill myself, and I'm not sure my mom is ever going to forgive herself. _And_ God knows how many people are going to find out about this now." He went on to explain the day's events before Warrick could ask the obvious questions.

When he finished, Warrick released a deep sigh of his own and pressed his lips to Nick's hair. "Nicky," was all he said, but there was a wealth of emotion behind it.

"Nothing I can do about it now. I'm not going to worry about it again until I have to." Nick doubted Warrick believed that any more than he did. With another sigh he buried his face in the crook of Warrick's neck.

"You sounded wiped," Warrick said mildly.

"Mm," Nick wondered how long it would be before he was able to relax again.

"You barely slept before work yesterday. How much did you get today?"

"Um."

"That's what I thought," Warrick disengaged himself and stood up. "Come on."

"Hey, I was just getting comfortable," Nick protested, knowing he was coming perilously close to whining.

"You can get a few hours in before work. I don't want you dragging your sorry ass all over Vegas."

"Sorry ass?" Nick scowled. He thought about saying a few other things, but that would _definitely_ sound like whining.

Warrick laughed and hauled him up. With a groan, Nick stood and allowed Warrick to march him to his bedroom. 

When they walked in, though, something else occurred to him. "I need to change the sheets first."

"What?"

"My parents slept here. Mom changed the sheets before they did, but--" Nick felt his face begin to heat up. "Man, I'm not getting into bed with you when it smells like my mom's perfume. That's just--"

"Gotcha," Warrick began to strip the sheets off, grinning all the while. He continued to grin as they changed the bed. "Okay?" he asked when they were done.

"Give me a break, Rick," Nick said, knowing he was probably still red.

"How about I give you something else?" Warrick asked, walking around the bed and moving until he had Nick up against the wall.

Nick smiled and let Warrick pull his t-shirt off. He wasn't _quite_ in the mood, but was sure he would be before long. Sure enough, when Warrick knelt in front of him and began unfastening his jeans, his body began to take an interest in the proceedings.

He could feel Warrick's warm breath on him as his jeans and shorts were tugged down his legs. Then Warrick put one hand on his hip and wrapped the fingers of the other around his cock. Focusing all his attention--and his tongue--on just the head, Warrick teased and licked and lapped until Nick was cursing him between gasps.

Warrick moved his hand so only his fingers were circling the base and took the rest of Nick's length into his mouth. 

Nick was grateful for the wall behind him--it was the only thing keeping him upright, he was certain. He tried to thrust forward, but Warrick tightened his grip with both hands, keeping him in place. "Rick..." he said desperately when he felt his knees turning to water.

When Warrick stood and kissed him, Nick responded eagerly, tasting himself on the full lips. Warrick was guiding him toward the bed, both of them forgetting about Nick's jeans until Nick lost his balance and toppled back. He landed almost fully on his mattress and raised his legs to let Warrick finishing pulling off his clothes. They were barely off before that warm wet heat surrounded his cock again.

Nick had no idea what he was babbling in response to Warrick's talented mouth, but something he said made Warrick chuckle around him. The only thing Nick could think of to do when that happened was to babble louder.

He tried to form the words to tell Warrick he couldn't hold out any longer, but then Warrick switched tactics, speeding up and increasing the suction. Nick arched up of the bed as he exploded with sensation, moaning Warrick's name.

Slumped bonelessly on his bed, Nick drifted on the edge of sleep, but tried to hold back. He felt Warrick get into bed with him and instinctively turned toward the expanse of warm skin. 

"Get some sleep, baby," Warrick ran his fingers through Nick's hair.

"You didn't..." Nick protested trying to keep his eyes open. "What about you?"

"I'll collect later."

Nick fell asleep to the sound of that purr.

  


End


End file.
